


tilt

by fantasycostco



Series: my bones rattle in my chest [2]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: The Beginning of the End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 03:48:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5896993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasycostco/pseuds/fantasycostco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morty, sitting alone in the kitchen, contemplates the state of things. It is not good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tilt

He wakes up to quick panicked breaths and the pounding of his pulse. The house is so quiet, so achingly lonely. He studies his alarm clock, the red letters the only color in his dark room. _4 am_ , he thinks. There will be no more sleep for him so he gets up and shuffles downstairs. The house seems completely different in the early hours, something about it feels more real.

  
He makes a pot of coffee and waits. He stares out the window into the backyard, he can sort of make out the outlines of things. Ghosts whisper to him. He ignores them. He pours a cup of coffee and the scalding liquid burns his tongue. He chugs it and pours himself a second cup. He sits in the dark and waits. Summer would wake up in an hour or so. He has no idea about Rick, the man had no set sleeping schedule.

  
It feels early, it feels late - it feels like time is meaningless. All there is, right here, at the kitchen table. He is awake and he is asleep. He feels like Schrodinger's Cat. Real and unreal, alive and dead, two realities ripping him apart. He's never been very good at puzzles. The coffee is no longer scalding but lukewarm. He wishes Snowball was still here.   
The sun starts stretching across the horizon. He moves back to the window. He watches and he waits. He is drinking coffee a hundred feet away from his dead body. Skeleton now, perhaps. He wonders what would happen if he dug it up, what would he find? What makes a Morty?

  
He doesn't feel like Morty. He doesn't feel like much of anything, really. The morning air stirs as Summer does. He listens to her shuffle about upstairs. She doesn't know about her brother's dead body in the backyard. In the kitchen. Ghosts whisper to him. The past, the present, the future all converge. Schrodinger's Cat, revealed. The truth is that there is no truth. There is neither life or death, there just _is._ He rinses out his coffee cup and puts it in the dishwasher. Summer is in the shower. He shuffles back to his room, quiet as the dead, and lays in his bed. 

  
The world is the same and different. He hates it here.       


End file.
